Set the World Aflame
by ericwinter
Summary: I've never been one for Si's. Too vain, too whiny, or just plain uninteresting. But I'm also a pragmatist. So when Fate decides to come a-knockin', peddling girl scout cookies and popcorn, I decide there's only one option. Punch it in the groin. hard.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so this is a thing. First off, I'd like to apologize any readers who may happen to have made an SI of their own. this story is not one meant to insult anybody in particular, or even the tropes mentioned, but I have noticed a commonality in many stories where the main character has a tendency to beat themselves up psychologically in order to build some sort of dramatic tension. Now I understand some people really do have self-image problems and similar thoughts, but the way it is handled and portrayed in many fanfictions suggests most are either manufactured or blown way out of proportion, and done so on purpose. As I, personally, am quite at peace with myself as a person and don't consider psychological conflict a completely necessary aspect of every story, will be doing my best to avoid this trope.**

**On the other hand, there **_**will **_**be plenty of physical and, at times, social conflict. This is Skyrim after all, and things are dangerous. That being said, I will also be cheating out of my ass for most of it, and using my knowledge from a vastly superior society with aplomb. Also my own personal charisma, skills, and intelligence. I will **_**try **_**to avoid any ego inflation, but am fully aware of the fact that not everybody has an accurate view of themselves. If anything seems unrealistic, feel free to call me on it and I'll either give my reasonings or adjust accordingly.**

**P.S. By the way, yes, I will be the Dragonborn, both for plot reasons and because while it gives me just enough power to survive until I've built up, it's also not an overly ridiculous power that can be abused heavily. At least, not without being really, **_**really **_**clever. I did mean to have old Sheo mention it, but it just didn't fit into the conversation. Eh, I'll figure it out eventually.**

**P.P.S. I suck at writing crazy, one of the many reasons I've never written a real crack-fic, so if Sheogorath seems horribly out of character, I apologize. I went more for a deep sort of madness than the typical scatter-brained nonsense he usually shows, partially because it's easier to write and partially because he is a **_**god **_**of madness. I assume he would take a form more along the lines of whoever he's talking to at the time, and that sort of thing seems like it would relate better to me.**

XXX

I never liked Self-insert fics much. I know, I know, that's not saying much, but I don't mean it in the way most people do. It was never about the power trips, or the near formulaic 'fixing' of every problem in a given universe. Honestly, my problem was the opposite of that. Most stories nowadays tried really, _really _hard not to be Mary Sue-ish, or too easy, and in the process end up making it into some sort of bitch-fest about how they're horrible people and can't do anything right. That, or everything's different and they have the universe itself out to shit on their day. One way or another, the author ends up overcompensating and painfully dragging any sort of plotline through the mud. So when fate finally came a-knocking at my door pedalling thin mints and popcorn, I resolved my first and foremost goal would be to punch that sort of bullshit in the groin. _Hard._

It happened on a perfectly normal day, by any other measure. I was just minding my own business, working the night-shift at my ridiculously boring gas station/convenience store job, just like always. My coworker, as usual, was in the back doing gods only know what, when in walked legitimately the strangest fucker I'd ever seen come through, and that was saying something. The night shift gets all the weirdos, and I'd seen crack-heads, hookers, and even crack-headed hookers on a regular basis, among other things. But this guy? He looked like he'd just walked out of the big tent at the world's craziest carnival.

"Morning," I greeted reflexively when the door opened, glancing over from where I'd been leaning against the counter, staring blankly into space. Then I blinked in surprise before raising my eyebrow in amusement. The man was spiffy at least, dressed in a finely tailored suit only someone who had more money than fashion sense would wear, split cleanly down the middle between orange and purple. In one hand was an ornately carved wooden cane, purely accessory from the way he carried it, and his pants were adorned with mystical trimming in patterns that hurt the eye to look at. Despite all that, however, it was the eyes that caught my interest. There's a lot you can tell from a person's eyes, and his were pure white. As in, he didn't have pupils pure.

"And a good afternoon to you too, sir!" The man replied in a thick, lilting scottish brogue, cackling loudly and grinning like a lunatic. "I do say, this is a fine establishment you have here!"

"From a certain perspective perhaps." I commented, glancing around the place. I mean, the little central circle for our registers were uncommon and kind of interesting. That counted right?

"Indeed, indeed!" The man agreed once again. He'd stopped walking just inside the door, right in front of the middle register in our little three pronged arrangement. "It's all a matter of perspective, really. Madness is fun like that." Again I cocked an eyebrow, but long experience dealing with weirdos let me shrug it off.

"Well, I'm over here when you're ready." I said, tapping the counter beside me before dismissing him , but he didn't move. In fact, he simply stood there, staring at me with his mad hatter's grin still stretched wide.

"You're a clever one, aren't you boy?' The man asked suddenly, and something about his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was still high and cheery, but… The smile stretched wider. "Oh yes, I'm sure of it. This will be _fun!_" then his cane slammed down with the noise of a rubber duck being stepped on, and suddenly the world was changed.

"Huh?" In the blink of an eye, I was no longer standing in the shop. Instead, I was in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, dirt and trees and rocks surrounding me. Worse, It was cold, made even more so by the fact I was no longer wearing my nice warm work shirt and jacket, but rather a set of dirty rags and coarse ropes tying my hand together. I blinked again, trying to process what had just happened. "Wait, what the fuck? What just happened?"

"Now now," A familiar scottish brogue spoke up from _right beside my ear_. "Don't go breaking your brain in the first few seconds! That'd be no fun!" I didn't scream in surprise, but I did jerk to the side, turning my head to stare at the purple-and-orange clad man who, in complete defiance of physics, remained leaning on my shoulder with that same mad smile. "You're so proud of using that brain boy. so _figure it out._"

"I-" I began, my mind stuttering for a moment before I grabbed hold of the reins and pulled. Right, panicking does nothing, and there was a rather terrifying edge to that smile so... figure this out. Was I imagining things? One glance around said no. The forest, clothes, and rope was still there, and I could _feel_ the wind on my bare skin, which should have been impossible a second ago. Dreams were out too since this was _way _too vivid for my dreams, which usually took the form of dark, foggy, half-formed ideas rather than something like this. Which meant I could safely assume this was probably real, unless it was an illusion. Or I wanted to start on conspiracy theories, but without even a smidgen of evidence I wouldn't go down that road. Then I blinked again as the mad man's smile shifted slightly, and I felt something spark in my brain.

"Sheogorath." The name fell off my tongue like water, unbidden but true all the same. I had _thought _he looked slightly familiar when he walked in, but now I was sure of it. This man looked exactly like the Daedric Prince of Madness right down to the white hair and eyes, which meant either he was a _really_ good cosplayer, or… I glanced around the small clearing we were in "Oh fuck me sideways with a rusty apricot."

"Haha! A tempting offer, boy!" The madman replied, finally taking a step back and twirling his staff idly. "Or maybe I should use a duck. I hear they're all the rage these days." His eyes twinkled with a sadistic mirth as he spoke, and I fought the sudden, desperate urge to strangle him.

"We're seriously doing this?" I asked, despite knowing the answer. I'd read enough fanfictions to know where this was going. Hell, the most recent one even _had _Sheogorath as the instigator. I was in a fucking Self-Insert. Or Isekai, whichever this really counted as. God fucking dammit.

"Oh yes, dear boy." The god answered, nodding his head easily. "I won't spell it out for you, since that'd be boring, but you know how this goes. Be entertaining, have fun, and don't make me turn you into a cucumber. I _hate _cucumbers." For a long, long moment I stared at him in disbelief and anger. He didn't move, just standing there with his smug smile as he twirled that cane. Maybe he was waiting for me to protest this sudden mistreatment, attack him, or even gibber madly at the realization that this shit was _actually _happening and I had no way of stopping it. I don't know. What I _do _know is that eventually, I just sighed gustily, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Fuck it," I said mildly, shoving the shock and surprise to a corner of my mind. I liked to think I was an open-minded person. Yes, I was finding it hard to believe I had actually in… some part of Tamriel, I guessed. But, unlike most people, I wasn't the type to get hung up on impossibilities. I'd long believed in magic, at least somewhat, and alternate dimensions weren't too far-flung a theory. As far as I could tell, this was happening. Maybe it was an illusion, maybe a dream, or even some dying hallucination as I bled out in a ditch somewhere. But until I'd been presented with proof of such a thing, I couldn't let myself act as if it were fake on the off chance that it actually wasn't. So I'd roll with this for now. But first… "Fine Sheogorath, I'll play your game. But answer me one thing."

"Oh?" The god started, actually pausing in his cane-twirling to cock his head as an interested gleam entered his opaque eyes. And yes, I know how that sounded. "And what would that be? Do you want to know where you are, perhaps? Or maybe the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow, perhaps? Oh, oh, I know, it's my mother's tuna recipe!" I felt my lips twitching as the madman cackled, a high pitched, painful sound but didn't react further to his line of increasingly inane queries.

"Why?" I stated, calmly and coldly. In an instant, Sheogorath stopped his cackling. It was interesting to watch, actually, the veneer of madness and dismissal vanishing as a being that could squash me like a bug turned the full weight of his attention on me. "Why, out of all the infinite possibilities did you choose _me_ to be your little patsy? And none of that bullshit about it being funny, or random or somesuch," I cut off the god as he opened his mouth, my own twisting sourly. "Even madmen have their reasons, twisted as they may be."

There was silence for a moment, as The Daedric Prince of madness regarded me with a cold light in his eyes. I should have been afraid at the attention, and I was, a little bit. I had just questioned a being who I could never understand, and who could do things to me not even the most twisted human mind could imagine. But at the same time, I was a pragmatist. If Sheogorath killed me, he killed me. There was nothing I could do about that, and thinking otherwise would be a fool's errand. But he _had _chosen me for this grand farce. That wasn't something he'd throw away for such a small slight.

"I've seen your stories." Sheogorath stated eventually, and this time I _did _flinch at the sound of his voice so cold. For the first time since he'd walked through that door, the god was no longer smiling. "All those lovely little fantasies and horrors you call SI's. I've read them, listened to them, watched them. Cheese wheels, I've even made some myself. And yet, none of them are really _clever, _are they? Oh sure, they change some things here and there, cause little bits of chaos, but it's all about the script with them, all about the game. They don't build. They don't _innovate._"

He looked at me then, and something in his gaze reached deep into my chest to _squeeze_. I wasn't afraid of many things in this world, or any other for that matter, but the sheer and utter madness I saw in that being's eyes nearly sent me gibbering in terror.

"But not you, eh boy? I've seen into your clever little mind, watched how you tick and read your thoughts. You don't just color outside the lines, you grab a whole new book and throw buckets of paint on top. I want to see something new, kid, something _different_. And you? You're going to set the whole sodding world aflame." He smiled then, a sharp, inhumanly wide expression that showed me rows of things I could only tangentially call teeth. Then he snapped, and his body started disappearing, bits and pieces fading out until the only thing left was the mouth. When that disappeared too, it made a small popping sound, and suddenly I was alone in a dark forest.

I only barely managed to realize the bastard had pulled a fucking Cheshire before there were a dozen men in leather armor surrounding me while waving swords and shouting angrily.


	2. Chapter 2

The imperial soldiers weren't particularly gentle in their handling of me, and by the time I found my way into a wooden cart had managed to give me several bruises and scrapes. They didn't really talk, either, except to bark commands so I couldn't find a chance to plead my innocence. I doubted it would work anyways, to be honest. These were Skyrim imperials, not Oblivion, which meant I was right on time for Helgen and Alduin's grand debut. And considering who I ended up in the cart _with_, they were probably under orders to capture anyone suspicious without question. Thanks to Sheogorath's lovely little makeover, I was pretty much the definition of suspicious.

I had to admit, Jarl Ulfric looked much better in person than he did on a game screen. Ralof too, come to think of it. They both had that sort of ruggedly handsome look that would have girls swooning over them back home though the former was much more dark and broody looking than the latter, especially with a cloth stuck in his mouth. Now, I was a perfectly straight male, but as both a writer and appreciator of fine fanart, I felt comfortable in admitting that they would easily fit into the category of 'hot' aesthetics. I was somewhat good looking myself, in my own humble opinion, but goddamn. Lokir, as I vaguely remembered our third companion's name being, looked like a filthy street rat by comparison, covered in dirt as he was.

Thankfully, without me having been knocked unconscious by some unknown event like the actual dragonborn, The blonde nord didn't have a useful segue for conversation, and I was given a chance to gather my thoughts before having to begin my first meaningful interaction in this world. So, my skinny ass, glasses-wearing, eighteen-year-old self-discounting that little bit of stomach pudge I could never seem to get rid of- here in Skyrim, on my way to a highly illegal execution about to be crashed by a giant dragon literally destined to end the world. Also, no obvious dragonborn in sight to stop him, which might mean I was supposed to play that role. Me, who had no real skills of note besides a sharp mind and sharper imagination, along with the ability to roll with the punches. I could already tell this was going to be _fun._

Right, first things first. I needed to find a magic book of some sort; It was, I hoped, much easier to learn than swinging around a sharp piece of steel, and much more useful besides. The obvious solution was a certain mage's corpse, but I might be able to do better depending on who I followed into the keep, whether the Legion had any battlemages deployed in Helgen, and half a dozen other factors I couldn't imagine besides. Still couldn't hurt to check. Before any of that, however, I needed to survive both through the execution and Alduin's initial rampage. Fate might be on my side-_might_\- and maybe Sheogorath as well, but I couldn't depend on that. Alduin was _dangerous, _and I didn't even count as a first level scrub. Which meant I needed to start observing _everything, _and plan accordingly. That led me to start glancing at our surroundings, tasking in the snow-covered mountains and dark green forestry. I also made note of how we were being guarded.

"YOu know, it's odd that we're at the back of the prisoner train." I mused aloud after a moment or two, glancing back and forth between the front of our ride and the rear. At first I wasn't sure if anyone would respond, as several seconds of silenced passed, but finally good old Ralof spoke up, his tone half-curious.

"What are you talking about, Lad?" The blonde nord asked, his blue eyes narrowed in my direction. I shrugged casually in response, meeting his gaze evenly.

"I mean, that's Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, right? Leader of the rebellion?" I asked rhetorically, jerking a finger towards the man in question and startling Lokir with the declaration. Ralof's eyes narrowed even further, but I continued before he could answer. "Our hands are bound, sure, but we can still grab things and pull. It would take what, three seconds for you to lunge, un-gag him, and he shout those archers back there off their horses. Another three to get out and disappear into the woods, and nobody even has the time to react."

There was a sudden moment of silence, thick enough that even the carts creaking seemed almost quiet as everybody in the cart, including the driver, suddenly turned to look at me with incredulous disbelief. The two mentioned archers, riding at least close enough to hear my not-so-quiet statement, had stiffened on their mounts, one even starting to reach for his bow. Then the wagon jerked, on wheel almost sliding off the road, and the driver spun back around to grab the reins with a curse, breaking the reverie. Ralof, Ulfric, and Lokir all leaned back into their seats, with the former two giving me quite the intense stares.

"Such cowardice would be dishonorable. A true Nord would never abandon their comrades like that." The blonde stated eventually, and finally the archers relaxed as well, even as they glanced between themselves. I ignored the by-play, shrugging.

"That's your prerogative, yes," I agreed, even as I tried not to bite my tongue. A _stupid _prerogative, perhaps, but theirs nonetheless. "But any decent tactician should have at least put double the guards, and spread them out more, if not just move the _precious cargo _to a more centralized location. For all they know you're not very honorable, or better yet, you could still have allies hiding in the woods, just waiting for the perfect chance to strike."

"And are you a 'decent tactician', lad?" The stormcloak asked, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips and his shoulders rolling back as if he wanted to cross his arms. I shrugged, my own smirk edging into existence.

"By nature, if not trade." Came my mild reply. "To be honest, I'm mostly just a scholar, when not acting as a shop assistant, at least." Convenience store clerks counted as shop assistants, right? And being a sort of author cum avid reader counted as scholarly pursuits. I dare you to say otherwise. Ralof, for his part, eyed me up and down, even as I felt his lord's gaze do the same.

"And what's a lowly shop assistant doing wandering the woods of Falkreath in rags and binds?" He asked with just the slightest hint of suspicion. I didn't blame the man, really. It _was _an odd story, and I'd framed it in an exceptionally vague manner to boot, but that wasn't my fault. I doubted he'd believe the full story even if it smacked him upside the face and demanded his lunch money. Knowing Sheogorath, that just might happen.

"Who am I to judge the whims of the gods?" I countered, before shrugging again. "Let's just say Fate is a wicked mistress and leave it at that. I walked into the imperial ambush by sheer bad luck." I'm pretty sure Acts of Sheogorath legally counted as that, and if not, I'd just conquer Tamriel and make it count.

Ralof didn't seem entirely pleased by that answer, but when I failed to be more forthcoming, he let the matter go and turned to talk to Lokir instead. Thankful to have his attention off me, I leaned back and sighed in relief, before stiffening again as I felt another stare on me. Turning my head, I met Ulfric Stormcloak's steely gaze with my own silently.

His eyes weren't judgemental, really, but there was still a sense of scrutinization in them that made me wonder just what he saw as he looked at me. Before I could voice the thought, however, the supposed High King of Skyrim looked away, and I was left to simply raise an eyebrow in confusion. Then I heard Ralof say that funny comment about how a Nord's last thoughts should be of home, and I couldn't the small chuckle that burst out of me.

"Unless, you know, they happen to have a wife or kids." I commented wryly, making both men snap their heads towards me in surprise. "Then it should probably be of them."

"Is that right, Lad? What of _your _wife and kids?" Ralof scoffed skeptically, and seriously, what the hell was with people basically calling me a kid here? Old Sheo I got. he was a god, mad, and a mad god, not to mention several centuries to boot. I wasn't going to argue that point. But Ralof couldn't be more than three years older than me, five at the max. And wasn't adulthood considered to be like, fifteen or something? Biting my tongue, however, I shoved those thoughts aside, opting instead to shake my head wryly.

"Nope, I'm a single bachelor, and proud of it. Haven't found myself a lady since the last one walked without even an excuse a couple of years ago. The point still stand, however." Ralof seemed caught off-guard by my admission, but nodded eventually. In the meantime, I just then noticed the arch of stone passing over us and looked up, blinking rapidly in surprise.

We had finally reached Helgen, it seemed, and boy was the place far different from what I had been expecting. For one, it was _huge,_ relatively speaking. Instead of a tiny village with maybe a few dozen buildings and a couple of towers, Helgen turned out to be a full-blown town, with thick stone walls and a sprawling keep in the center of it all. I stared around in no small amount of awe, marveling at all the sights and sounds. I had, in my younger years, been a bit of a history fan, and still held a special place in my heart for the medieval ages. At the same time, however, I couldn't help but notice the sheer amount of guards and soldiers running around everywhere, punctuated every once in a while by the distinctive black and gold cloaks that could only be Thalmor agents. Right, those bastards were around too, I remembered now. Basically Tamriel's equivalent to the fucking nazi's, and they were standing out in the open like they belonged. At least most people around them, including they're so-called allies, seemed uneasy. What little sympathy I possessed for the imperial soldiers would have disappeared like smoke otherwise.

I tuned out the conversation between Lokir and Ralof, instead focusing on our surroundings., All too soon, however, I was interrupted as the cart drew to a stop, jerking me and everyone aboard in surprise. The square, at least, looked similar to my foggy memory, a big square stone area surrounded by houses and with a slight slope running away upwards on the other side. That, I thought glancing towards the least friendly of our companions, was where Lokir would die. The cowardly thief, shot down as he tried to run from his fate.

As I lined up behind Ralof, Lokir, and Ulfric, I pondered whether to save the man or not. Letting him go might buy me a few seconds, seconds that could see my head chopped off if I wasn't lucky. Hell, I might not even be _able _to stop him. We hadn't talked, during the ride. Yes he listened, but I hadn't. I didn't know a thing about the man except that he was a thief from Rorikstead and destined to die. But that was just it, I thought as a bitter smile twisted my lips. He was _destined _to die. And I didn't give a _fuck _what destiny wanted. Sheogorath had said I'd set the whole world aflame. Fine then. Let's strike a spark, shall we?

I waited until the dark-haired nordic scribe-_Hadvar_, I thought-called Lokir's name. The horse thief stepped forward, starting his claim against being a rebel… and I stepped with him, 'accidentally' moving too far and entangling our legs. The sudden tug on a man who had already been tensed, ready to run, was more then enough to throw him completely off-balance, and when my own weight shifted forward, we both went down like a sack of stones, becoming a mess of limbs and flesh on the hard cobblestones.

"Oh, fuck, fuck I'm sorry!" I apologized rapidly, pushing against the horse thief and, this time actually on accident, getting myself entirely tangled up. It worked though. By the time we managed to sort ourselves out, pretty much the whole yard had focused on just the two of us, with several dozen arrows pointed our way, and half again as many swords poking out of their sheaths. Lokir, the first one to see this, froze, before turning on me with a savage snarl.

'You son of a whore!" The thief practically growled, shoving me, hard. I stumbled backwards, almost regained my balance, before slipping on a wet cobblestone and crashing to the ground. I winced at the sharp pain on my ass, but looked up to meet his pissed off glare.

"I'm sorry," I said again, struggling hard not to let a smile appear on my lips. "I tripped." For a long moment, I thought he was going to jump on me there and save the Imperials the trouble, but then he whirled around, Stalking angrily to his place in the line of future executees. Half the guards' weapons followed him, and this time there was just no helping the tiny little smirk that curled my lips. Slowly I stood up, brushing the dust off my admittedly already filthy rags, and sent a beaming smile towards the dark-haired scribe our little scuffle had interrupted.

"Sorry about that." I said airily, reveling in the strange looks I was getting. Yeah, I probably seemed like a fucking lunatic right now, but fuck them. I just bought a man's life with a few bruises and some enmity. That was excessively cheap by my standards. You were saying?"

Hadvar blinked for a few moments, seemingly in shock, before finally managing to gather his wits.

"Oh, right, uh…" He started, glancing down at his list, then back up at me, then back to his list again. "Sorry, but who are you?"

Here, I paused, taking a moment to readjust the glasses which had been knocked askew in my little scuffle. Now, I could just tell him my real name. It's not like it would make a difference either way, but there _was _the off-chance that this was actually a work of fiction, the last hour or so had been watched by a hundred slavering fanboys, and I didn't particularly want to throw that information out onto the great wide web. Even if that _wasn't _the case, It would still be nice to have a fall-back in case I ever had to go disappear for some reason, and it would be horribly ironic to use an actual name for that. On the other hand, I was quite proud of my ability to not tell a lie. And creative truths _were_ a talent of mine.

"Eric." I said finally, after a second of debate. 'You can call me Eric Winter." Hadvar cocked an eyebrow, but deigned not to comment, instead turning to the superior officer standing beside him, who was eyeing me like a piece of meat even as she fingered her blade.

"What do we do, sir? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list," the officer growled, and _wow, _what did I do to piss her off? Then I remembered the last two minutes and resisted the urge to smack my forehead. Right, causing a scene right when they're about to execute the biggest malcontent they've had this era. My smile grew just a touch wider. "He goes to the block."

"Really?" I interjected loudly, almost bursting out laughing when once again every eye in the square turned to me. "I mean, I'm not surprised, but here I thought you Imperials were all about law and order. Because that's a severe miscarriage of justice right there."

"I'll show you a miscarriage of justice, _boy._" the woman spat, and again with the boy. Hell, she looked young than _Ralof._ Seriously, I'm not that young! When she took a single step forward, I threw my hands up in surrender, matching it backwards.

"Alright, alright, I get it. Can't take any chances with Ulfric Stormcloak hanging around." I said appeasingly, even as that damn smile kept tugging at my lips. Most people would probably tell me to drop the shovel and stop digging by now. I'd had it happen before. But honestly? It was _funny_ try so hard not to strangle you to death when they know they wouldn't get away with it.. And, of course, there was the fact that the longer I took, the longer Alduin had to get here.

"I _am _sorry." Hadvar apologized, and he really did seem like he meant it with the way he was looking at me. That was a lot of pity right there. "At least you'll die here, in your homeland."

_That _made me pause for a moment, blinking in surprise. Wait, did they think I was a Nord? I mean yeah, I was pretty tall for my age, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but my facial structure didn't really match their typically rugged looks. If anything, I was closer to a breton or maybe a high elf, with sharp, pointed features and slightly slanted eyes that seemed almost asian. Toss in the glasses and half-beard half-goatee I was growing, and I actually looked pretty leonine. Almost like a blonde Doctor Strange, actually.

Still, I took the comment in stride, smiling softly and shaking my head. "Race doesn't make a home, sir, just as blood does not make family. You'd do well to remember that." Then I turned and walked towards the execution line, smiling all the while.

XXX

**Okay, I'll be frank, this chapter was supposed to get a lot further along, but the conversations and stuff took a lot longer than I was expecting, and suddenly I realized I was over three thousand words. Ah well, I'll drop this now so you can comment and review while I start working on the next bit.**

**On a completely different note, I feel like I should mention something that might have become apparent in this chapter, and will only do more so as time goes on. You mihgt have noticed that I have a tendency to slip back and forth between a somewhat formal manner of speech and much more casual comments, both spoken and thought. This is a particular quirk of my personality and expansive vocabulary, and one I hope won't offend too many sensibilities. Of course, being in a primarily medieval society certainly won't help matters, since there's many things which are plenty stupid enough to warrant speaking plainly, but just as much which would instill a need for grand drama in me.**

**Hope you enjoyed, and the next part should be out soon!**

**...Hopefully, at least.**


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